My heart,
Hearken unto a second wind beneath your wings, as the gift of a new lease on life sings within your beating pinions and sends breezes of new reasons why into your old, cracked pot of reasons why not. Take hold, with bitterly almost-frozen fingers, of the hose which surges forth new warm waters of summer onto the ice-caked frozen winter's yard of old, cold, dead regrets, punctured by black broken twigs of disbelief that poke up through the smooth brittle icing of numb white.
Command the sturdy tugboat of reassurance, as she hauls the battered, wayward tanker of lost hope - deck thick with prowling ghosts long since given up, engine room bereft of movement, engines starved, unstartable, propellers frozen silent and still, tanks empty of fuel and pep. Beat the crap out of the burglar of complacency, jimmying the door of safety with the crowbar of I-told-you-so, seeking greedily for the hidden valuables of contentment until suddenly being surprised by the awakened resident of hey-I-didn't-realize-you-were-home, and the dog of what-the-crap-they-have-a-pitbull.
Don't allow the faded symbols of whateverness to displace the metaphors of that-which-I'm-trying-to-say. You know the difference, my heart. But it is not enough to know the difference.
Now you must be the difference.
Hearken unto a second wind beneath your wings, as the gift of a new lease on life sings within your beating pinions and sends breezes of new reasons why into your old, cracked pot of reasons why not. Take hold, with bitterly almost-frozen fingers, of the hose which surges forth new warm waters of summer onto the ice-caked frozen winter's yard of old, cold, dead regrets, punctured by black broken twigs of disbelief that poke up through the smooth brittle icing of numb white.
Command the sturdy tugboat of reassurance, as she hauls the battered, wayward tanker of lost hope - deck thick with prowling ghosts long since given up, engine room bereft of movement, engines starved, unstartable, propellers frozen silent and still, tanks empty of fuel and pep. Beat the crap out of the burglar of complacency, jimmying the door of safety with the crowbar of I-told-you-so, seeking greedily for the hidden valuables of contentment until suddenly being surprised by the awakened resident of hey-I-didn't-realize-you-were-home, and the dog of what-the-crap-they-have-a-pitbull.
Don't allow the faded symbols of whateverness to displace the metaphors of that-which-I'm-trying-to-say. You know the difference, my heart. But it is not enough to know the difference.
Now you must be the difference.
Comments